


one look at you and i can't disguise

by thelilacfield



Series: there is no world where i am not yours [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Getting Together, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: “You’re a model? I mean…it makes sense. You’re so pretty.”"Spare me the compliments, you’re not getting me into bed. I’m not interested in someone who pulls out a condom five minutes into the night. Whatever you do for work, it must be shady for you to be out this late.”“Of course it is, I’m a prostitute.”
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: there is no world where i am not yours [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859725
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	one look at you and i can't disguise

**A/N:** AU-dvent day 4! Barely tailing with the AU-gust fashion and models AU prompt. Also sort of a _Pretty Woman_ AU! Based on [this AU gifset](https://visionmcu.tumblr.com/post/178559745099/scarlet-vision-au-1-pretty-woman-wanda) from Tumblr, show it some love!

I'm on Tumblr and Twitter **@mximoffromanoff** if anybody wants to chat about all things scarletvision! Enjoy, and please let me know with a comment if you do :)

**warning: mentions of infidelity, very very light reference to the possiblity of dubious consent sexual encounters, prostitution**

* * *

Her phone starts to ring, and she snaps, "I can't talk, Nat, I'm driving."

"Oh, so it's that bad?" Natasha asks, and Wanda can practically hear the sigh in her manager's voice. "Just ignore the gossip, Wanda, don't let it get to you. As if anyone really cares that your ex will be in Paris with his fiancée at all the same events as you."

"Plenty of people care, haven't you seen all the gossip about it today?" Wanda asks, waiting for the light to turn green. "Look, I really just don't want to talk about it. I need to think."

"I'll bring you breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Fine, great," Wanda says shortly, and hangs up, her grip tightening on the wheel in frustration. She knows Natasha has her best interests at heart, she knows that, but all she can think about is walking into industry parties and seeing Simon there. The hand that held hers every day for three years wrapped around someone else's, a hand wearing an engagement ring that she was waiting for. A ring she was supposed to get.

The light turns green, and she stamps her foot on the accelerator only for her car to let out a series of clunking noises and come to a sudden halt, barely giving her time to jerk the wheel off the road. She's parked somewhere down a side street lit by lurid neon signs, and no matter how much she pushes every button she can see her car won't start. And there are tears of frustration in her eyes as she climbs out and slams the door so hard it echoes like a clap of thunder along the street, burying her head in her hands.

It takes a few deep breaths to stop feeling like she's about to cry, then she calls the mechanic number saved in her phone, leaning against the side of her stupid, useless, broken car. "Hi, my name is Wanda Maximoff and my car has broken down on Sunset Boulevard, could someone come out to tow me?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, all of our tow trucks are currently out. It would take an hour at least to make it to you."

"But…what am I supposed to do to get home? I need to be there, I fly out to Paris in four days and I'm not ready to go!"

"Ma'am, there's nothing I can do. You can wait or you can look for your own solution."

"Oh, never mind, thank you." Breath coming in jagged, panicked bursts, she tucks her phone back into her purse and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes until she sees starbursts of blue, every muscle in her body locked up tight with panic, heart pounding, mind thinking of every terrible thing that could happen while she's stranded away from home without a working car.

"Excuse me?" She glances up, chest too tight to speak, and blinks at the man standing near her, hovering a respectful distance away. Looking at her with very blue eyes, blonde hair neatly slicked back, and her gaze drifts over his tight, thin T-shirt, the leather jacket slung over one arm, his torn jeans and shabby, dusty trainers. "I couldn't help but hear that you're having car trouble. Do you want me to take a look?"

She stares at him for a moment, wondering why he could possibly just be offering to help a perfect stranger on the side of the street, but his eyes are wide, his smile kind, and she likes the smoothness of his accent and how he hasn't moved a single step closer while speaking. "You're welcome to, but I don't know if you'll be able to fix it," she says, and he steps up to the car, opening the engine and leaning down over it. "I'm Wanda."

"Vision," he says, and she watches him peering at the engine, frowning in concentration, hands moving over the intricate mechanisms. "Why are you out here tonight?"

"Just…needed to drive," she says, and he looks up at her with a silent question in his eyes. "Bad week."

"Oh…I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds so sweetly sincere that she cracks the smallest hint of a smile.

"Why are you out here?" she asks, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, goosebumps rising under her fingers, unable to help a slight stutter of breath in the chill.

"Work," he says simply, and straightens up, unwrapping his leather jacket from over his arm and shaking it out to wrap gently over her shoulders. "Why don't you get in the car and turn the heating on while I work? I think I know what's wrong, should be a simple fix."

"No, I'm fine," she says, trying to shrug his jacket off, but he moves away before she can, turning the flashlight on his phone into her engine and picking at the mechanisms.

After five minutes of silence but for the sound of metal on metal, he looks back up, and smiles as he slams the engine closed again with oil-streaked hands. "Should be fixed," he says. "Try it."

When she turns the ignition on, the engine purrs smoothly into life, and she grins at him. "Thank you so much!" she says, and he just shrugs. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I couldn't just let you get trapped here, this neighbourhood isn't great at night," he says, and she just smiles at him. "You should get a professional to look over it, that's probably just a temporary fix."

When he starts to walk away, back down the street, she clutches his jacket around her shoulders and suddenly hears herself saying, "Wait! You should come over to my place. Just have a drink. On me. To say thank you."

He stares at her for a moment, eyes wide and round, and then relaxes into a smile. Sweet and earnest and warm, and he moves closer to her, and her heart starts to race in a very familiar way. "I think that sounds lovely," he says, and she smiles slightly, feeling a flush creeping up her neck.

The drive back to her home is silent, but a companionable sort of silence. Vision is looking up at her apartment in amazement, admiring the marble floors and the artwork, and she hangs his jacket up carefully and asks, "What do you want to drink? Wine? Beer? Champagne?"

"Wine would be fine, thank you," he says, running his hands over the cushions on her couch. "Should we move to the bedroom after that?"

"No, no, right here is fine," she says, and he gives a momentary quirk of an eyebrow. "My couch is very comfortable. I do this on it all the time."

She turns her back to choose a bottle from her wine rack, pulling down two matching glasses and carefully popping the cork out, pouring out two glasses and wondering if Natasha will tell her off for drinking so close to Paris. Then deciding she doesn't care, and spinning on her heel to return to the couch. "I really can't thank you enough, Vision," she says, smiling softly at him. "I guess you're my knight in shining armour."

"That's very sweet of you to say," he says, and she just grins, blushing slightly. "It's good luck that we ran into each other. We can help each other."

He uncurls his closed fist, and she stares down at the foil packet in his hand for a long moment. Looks back up at him and sees no sign on his face that he's joking, and jerks away from him. "What the hell?!" she snaps, pushing his hand away from her. "What are you _doing_?"

"I'm…protection is important!" he says insistently, and she just stares at him, lip curling in disgust. "Maybe you _like_ sex without a condom, but I'm sorry, it's just not safe to do it like, I never do-"

"How _dare_ you?!" she exclaims, getting entirely up from the couch and glaring down at him. "This is _not_ what I meant when I said I'd thank you! Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"I just…you didn't invite me over for sex?" he asks, tilting his head at her in pantomime confusion, and she sees red.

"Just get out!" she snaps. "You can't just come into my house just _expecting_ to have sex! What was this going to be, some fun story to tell your friends and sell to a tabloid? 'I fixed a model's car and she was so grateful she had sex with me on her couch'?"

"You're a model?" he asks, and gazes at her for a moment. "I mean…it makes sense. You're so pretty."

"Oh _God_ , just _stop_ ," she snaps with a roll of her eyes. "Spare me the compliments, you're not getting me into bed. I'm not interested in someone who pulls out a condom five minutes into the night. I may be heartbroken, but I'm not having a one night stand with some guy I picked up off the street. Whatever you do for work, it must be shady for you to be out this late."

"Of course it is, I'm a prostitute." He says it so matter-of-factly that she can only blink wordlessly at him for a moment, still spinning the condom packet over his fingers. "You…didn't invite me over for sex?"

"No!" she insists, folding her arms defiantly over her chest. "I was just trying to do something nice for someone who helped me out!"

His face falls, and he sets his wine glass down, face blotching red with a blush while he tucks the condom back into his wallet, brushing himself nervously down. "I'm so sorry," he says faintly. "I should…I should go…'

"Wait!" She hears herself call out before she's consciously decided to say anything, and Vision pauses in reaching for his jacket, looking back at her over his shoulder. Shame in his eyes, and she just stares at him. Noticing how thin and tight his clothes are, clearly meant to be tempting the kind of people who would take someone home for the evening. Thinking of him out on that cold street corner, selling his body for money. Not so far from what she does, posing and pouting on runways and in advertisements for money. "Please…stay. Let me make you dinner. I'll pay whatever your rate is. I just…want someone to talk to."

"Oh…um, it's really alright," he says. "I'll just go to a different street, I'll find work. Don't worry about me."

"It's getting late, it's dark and cold, anything could happen to you out there," she says, and his face is shadowed for a moment. Making her think it already has happened. "You can even sleep here tonight. This couch really is very comfortable."

"Are you sure?" he asks, and she just nods insistently. "Okay, um…my hourly rate is two hundred dollars. Five hundred for the night."

"I'll give you six hundred," she says, and his eyes go wide for a moment. "Now come sit back down. You choose some music, and I'll make us something and get another bottle of wine."

When they sit down to lemon chicken stir fry and refilled wine glasses, she's so aware of Vision's eyes on her, the weight of his gaze like the prickling of tiny needles. "So you're a model?" he asks, and she nods. "What do you do?"

"Catwalks and advertising," she says, forking up a piece of pepper. "I've been invited to Paris Fashion Week for the first time. I fly out in four days."

"That's incredible!" he says, eyes shining. "Even I've heard of that, and I don't follow fashion much."

"I don't know if I'm going to go," she says, the words just spilling out of her. She can blame it on the one glass of wine loosening her tongue, because Vision is tilting his head and frowning at her. "My ex-boyfriend has also been invited. Simon Williams? The soccer player?"

"Oh, yes, I've heard of him, my ex-boyfriend thought he was very attractive," Vision says, and she just nods. She's heard it all before. How lucky she was to have snagged Simon before his celebrity truly soared. How there were a million girls and as many guys who would kill to be in her position. How she should consider herself lucky a soccer player even looked at her. "How long were you together?"

"Three years," she says. "We lived together. He was the one who suggested it. And I thought he was going to propose, but he broke up with me. After three years of dodging every talk about marriage or kids, he broke up with me. And now, he's engaged to some girl he barely knows, four months after he broke my heart. And if I go to Paris, I'll have to see them everywhere, at all the parties, kissing and holding hands and doing everything he was supposed to do with me."

"I'm so sorry, Wanda," he says softly, and she glances up at him and sees that he means it. There's such sweet honesty in his eyes and his expression is so genuine that she almost wants to cry at a show of sympathy. She hasn't gotten much sympathy since Simon left, just having to hold herself together for the sake of her public image. "You don't deserve that. Don't you have someone you could take with you?"

"Not really," she says with a slight sad shrug. "My manager will be with me, but it's not exactly her job to protect me from having to see my ex. If I have to be near him, all she'll do is shuffle me out a little early and keep powder and tissues in her bag in case I suddenly get upset."

"Oh, I wish there was something I could do," he says, frowning in distress and taking a long sip of wine. "You're just so sweet, you don't deserve to have to go through that."

She stares at him for a moment, gently swirling her wine around her glass. An idea taking shape in her head, forming out of the shadows and making her open her mouth to say, "Maybe I don't," before she's consciously decided to say anything. And Vision tilts his head at her, and she sets their plates aside and asks, "How much do you make in a week?"

"I mean, it depends," he says. "In a good week, I'll have maybe fifteen hours of work. That's three thousand dollars. But that would be on a very good week, and I haven't had one of those in a long time."

"I will give you ten thousand for a week," she says, and his eyes blow wide, hope sparking in them. "If you…this is going to sound strange, but I want you to hear me out. I want you to come with me to Paris, as my date. If I turn up with a boyfriend, and spin some story for the media, it won't matter that my ex-boyfriend is there with his fiancée. They'll all be interested in a newer story, and I can enjoy this important week without worrying about Simon."

"Are you asking me to come to Paris with you?" he asks, a shadow of doubt cast over his face, and she nods, more secure in the idea with every passing moment. "Oh, um…it's awfully sweet, but I can't afford a plane ticket or a hotel or anything, really."

"All expenses paid," she says, and he just stares at her. "I'll call my manager, tell her I want to bring someone, and it'll be sorted by tomorrow evening. You don't have to do a thing except pretend to like me. You'd be doing me a huge favour. And afterwards, you never have to see me again. We can part ways, you with your money and me with peace of mind over my ex thinking he has power over me."

He stares at her in the suspended silence, eyes wide and flickering, and she can almost see the gears spinning in his mind. Then he finally takes a deep breath and speaks.

"I'll do it."

* * *

When she sees Simon for the first time in four months, the first time she's had to see those brown eyes and the dimple in his right cheek and the smooth way he smiles since they broke up, she falters for a second. Three years of memories spin in front of her, of those eyes gazing into hers when he promised that they'd talk about marriage and children one day, of his arms around her, of their midnights and early mornings. But before she can lose herself in what used to be and what will never be again, Vision squeezes her hand and brings her back to the moment.

"You're okay," he whispers, his mouth so close to her ear, making it look to the curious observers like they're swapping sweet nothings. She lets herself smile like she used to with Simon, that sweet softness of the newly infatuated. "He can't ruin this for you. Just hold my hand."

She twines her fingers tightly into his, just as Simon sees her. And he's moving through the crowd of the party towards her, and for a moment it's like the times before. Then she sees the woman beside him, all blonde hair and a sunny smile and the glittering sapphire and diamond ring on her left hand. And Simon leans right into her space, the spice of his cologne invading her senses, and kisses her cheek in greeting like they're old friends and not exes.

"Wanda," he says warmly, and her name in his voice rocks the world. She clings tighter to Vision, her smile brittle enough to break on her face, and he's still grinning, deepening the dimple she used to poke teasingly when they first started dating, that she used to kiss whenever he made her laugh. "You look stunning."

"You both look good," she says stiffly, and turns her eyes to Anna. The fiancée. The new piece, the girl he took up with so quickly after they split up, her engagement ring glittering smugly in the lights.

"Love the dress," Anna says, and Wanda just nods. She's wearing red, the colour that always makes her feel powerful. The colour she was wearing one night at a loft party in Manhattan when an up-and-coming soccer player approached her with a smooth smile and a drink in each hand. "Did you hear? We've saved the date." She turns her gaze to Simon, her eyes shining, and Wanda wonders if that was how she looked. While people whispered behind her back that she was fooling herself to think Simon was ever going to propose, she shone at him like that and waited far longer than she should have.

"So I read on Twitter this morning," she says. "Next summer, right? Doesn't that clash with the soccer season?"

"Well, I would never want to get married in _winter_ ," Anna says with a theatrical shudder. "Summer is far better."

"Only the best for my bride," Simon says with a smile, and pulls Anna into his side, kissing her hair. It seems like only yesterday that Wanda was in her place, her dress wrinkled by his fingers tightening on her waist, her smiling like Anna is smiling, and it squeezes a fist around her heart.

Then Anna's eyes alight on Vision, and she jerks away from Simon. "I'm so sorry, we're being _so_ rude, talking like old friends and not introducing ourselves," she says, and holds out a dainty hand. "Annalise Clarke-Alderidge." Then her signature bell-like giggle, and she adds, "Soon to be Clarke-Alderidge-Williams."

"Baby, we talked about you dropping one of those and not having a triple-barrelled surname," Simon says, and Anna laughs, her smile never slipping.

"Victor Shade," Vision says, and he drops Wanda's hand to slide an arm around her, her fingers curving over her waist almost identically to Simon's over Anna's.

"And you're a photographer?" Anna asks, and Wanda bristles at how deliberately obtuse she's clearly being. "A stylist? Oh, an assistant? I know you're not her manager - where is Natasha, anyway?"

"Natasha is out for dinner with a few old industry friends," Vision says, and Wanda can't help but admire how acerbically sweet his voice has become. "I'm the plus one, actually." He looks down at her with a besotted smile that doesn't even seem fake, and says, "I'm Wanda's boyfriend."

And Anna claps her hands together, and Wanda curls herself tighter into Vision's side. The cotton-fresh scent of his clothes comforts her, makes her anchor herself to him, her lighthouse in the dark. "That's so lovely!" Anna squeals, and Vision brushes a soft kiss to the top of Wanda's head, so sweet. "How long have you been together?!"

"Two months," Vision says, the perfectly rehearsed answer. "We met at the grocery store, didn't we?"

"I forgot onions for a recipe," Wanda says, the gold-spun story of a meet cute almost too adorable to be real. And it digs a bruise into her to remember that it isn't real. "Tried to turn around in the checkout line and knocked something out of his hands."

"Loaf of bread," he clarifies, and she smiles up at him, a searchlight beam of an infatuated smile. Taking her back to the early days of a new romance, the pattering heart and the flushed face and the smile that never slipped away. When everything felt certain. "You wouldn't stop apologising, and I offered to go and get the onions for you so you wouldn't lose your place in line."

"Then you came out and asked me to get coffee," she says, and gives Simon a pointed look. "Didn't even realise who I was at first."

"I just thought you were pretty and kind, and I wanted another hour to talk to you," he says, and she smiles, leaning softly into his side.

"What do you do, Victor?" Simon asks. "Are you involved with any of...this?" He gestures wildly around at the room full of people, designers and models and managers and publicists all mingling, their voices rising high as negotiations are decided over the crystalline glasses of champagne.

"No, no, I'm a bartender," he says. "Very boring compared to all the fame in this room, I'm sure."

"Maybe I need a little dose of boring, sweetheart," Wanda says, and she doesn't glance at Simon. But she hopes that he sees the message she's being none too subtle about. And Vision smiles at her, and lowers his head to give her the soft, closed-mouth kiss they agreed would be acceptable for their game of pretend.

When reporters ask her who she's with, she tells them he's her boyfriend. Their cameras flash and Vision's arm wraps securely around her, holding her upright. And she wonders if she's gotten herself tangled up in something she could drown in.

* * *

Waking up in Paris doesn't lose its shine. Her eyes open to the sound of her alarm, and she can sit up and watch Vision sleep over the barrier of pillows between them in the king-size bed of her hotel suite. He's so softened in sleep, hair falling forward over his face, and she always treasures those misty early mornings before she peels herself from the warm sheets and goes to shower. Sometimes she hears the soft knock at the bathroom door before he waits for her to finish and entertains the thought of him joining her.

She'd be foolish not to admit that she's hired someone so handsome to pretend to date her. She finds herself often distracted by the thought of those blue eyes, wondering if his hair would be soft when she curled her fingers into it, thinking about the slender length of him, her heart skipping when his hand spreads gently over the small of her back when they're in crowds together. And she has to remind herself that it's a business transaction between them, that there's nothing real about what they're portraying to the crowds and the reporters. Headlines about the rags-to-riches model and her bartender boyfriend don't last long, and she gets the satisfaction of watching how discomfited Simon is seeing her with someone new. Let him feel an ounce of the anger and swelling sadness she did when she saw his engagement announcement on Instagram.

The parties don't wane in enthusiasm through the week, and she has to wonder how anyone is still on their feet. She's exhausted, sucking down coffee every morning while Vision tuts teasingly about too much caffeine, but she still submits to the make-up artist and the hairstylist twisting her into primped and preened knots. On the second-to-last day of the magic, her last full night in the city of lights, she's dressed in backless blue, the ballroom bright with candles and the sky dark and studded with stars outside. It's magical, and for a moment everything else about her life fades away. She just realises how lucky she is to be here, how everything has aligned for this moment when she stands on a ballroom balcony and sees how far she's come.

The whisper of material breaks the silence of his solitude, and there's a blazer being gently laid over her bare shoulders, a kiss brushed to the back of her hand when she reaches up to pull it further over her, prevent it from slipping to the damp ground. Vision's hand covers her on the fence, large and long-fingered and warm, and he softly asks, "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine," she says. "I'm from a mountain country, remember?"

"I've never been to Sokovia," he says, and she looks at him. Stars in his eyes, breathtaking in his full tuxedo, and something in her chest clenches tight. "I would like to, though. One day."

"I'd be happy to be your guide," she says, talking like there's a future between them. Like they won't part ways the moment their plane touches back down at LAX, him with money that might change his life in his pocket and her with her confidence back. "Everyone always talks about the markets and the mountains, but I always liked the woods better."

"How old were you when you left?" he asks, and she casts her eyes down to their intertwined hands, sadness misting through her mind. "Oh, I don't mean to pry. I'm just...interested. In you."

"I was seventeen when I got scouted as a local model," she says. "And then someone put me in touch with a US agency, and that was how this all snowballed. It all happened so fast then, I...like I was Cinderella. At the time, I thought I was about due a stroke of good luck."

"You're much prettier than Cinderella," he says, and she laughs, thinking he's teasing. But his expression when he looks at her is open, genuine, and she swallows thickly, a flush creeping up the back of her neck.

"After...my family were killed, I thought that was the end of any dream I'd ever had," she says, and his eyes fill with sadness, sympathy painted across his face. "And then I was suddenly rich, and beautiful enough to make it, and I had a beautiful home in LA and the guy a million girls wanted and everything was picture-perfect. Some days I think I...I'm still waiting for the stroke of midnight. I'm waiting for the carriage to turn back into a pumpkin."

"You deserve everything you have, Wanda," he says, so sweet and sure. "I promise."

"Losing Simon felt like the start of going back to the rags before the riches," she says, a reluctant admission. "I was supposed to have the perfect man, the perfect length of relationship until I got the perfect ring. And now, I...I don't have that. It got away, and everyone thinks it's because I'm losing my touch. Aging out of all this."

"But you can do anything," he says. "You can leave on your own terms. What did you want to be when you were young?"

"I don't know," she says. "I...barely passed high school, so I don't know what I'd do. I want to...make a difference. Help people."

"Well...you've helped me," he says, and she looks up and blinks at him. "You've brought me here. I never thought I'd see Paris. I...I didn't lie to Anna, telling her I'm a bartender. I've done that, and I've been a barista, and I've worked in a shop. I tried everything." He looks away from her, the fingers of his free hand curling into a fist. "I came to the US to study. But financial aid fell through, and I couldn't find the money for my fees anywhere. I was barely living, so I dropped out. And I want to go back, but it's been six years."

"What do you want to do?" she asks, and he softens.

"Teach," he says. "Elementary, I'd hope. I love kids. I want to help shape the, show them that it's okay for them to be who they are." Then he laughs, a hollow sound that breaks her heart. "But I think that ship has long sailed. I'll be lucky to get out of the cycle I've ended up in."

"I want to help you," she says. "Look, I have the money. I don't think I want to go to college myself. So I could...help."

"You've done so much already-"

"An all-expenses paid trip to Paris for a week is nothing compared to actually changing your life," she says, and he looks at her with something she can't read in his eyes. "Let me make you who you want to be. You're already so kind, and so genuine, and so smart. You deserve to be able to do what you dream about."

He kisses her. The soft kisses of the past week at first, but then his hand tightens on her on the fence, and she exhales in a rush against his mouth. Her lips part beneath his, and his tongue sweeps softly into her mouth, and she clutches at his hand before he pulls back, his eyes wide. "Sorry," he says softly, barely audible over the music inside. "Sorry. I know we said...closed mouths only." He glances through the open doors, the spill of light from the party, and says, "Unless...did you see Simon? If you want to make him jealous-"

"That wasn't about Simon," she says, and he blinks at her. "Vision, I...I think you're handsome. I think you're sweet and smart and _sexy_. And I know we're in Paris, and everyone gets all caught up in this being the city of lights and love, and we've both been drinking, so I respect you stepping away right now. But I..." Her voice breaks slightly and she says, "I'm attracted to you. I would like something... _physical_ to happen between us. But only...only if you want it. Not because of the money."

There's a long moment of silence, of hesitation. A moment where she thinks she's made a mistake, where a lump hardens in her throat, where she prepares herself to step away in a haze of humiliation and pretend everything is alright and she hasn't laid so much of herself bare to lose a man she cares about again. To have read the wrong story again, just like she did with Simon.

Then Vision moves closer to her, their breath mingling silvery in the cold air between them, and she can count every one of his long, pale eyelashes. See the shades of blue in his eyes, his pupils slightly wider with want, and his arms slide around her, connecting at the small of her back, and she shivers at his fingers on her bare skin. And when he leans down to kiss her, she sinks her fingers into the silk of his hair and opens herself to him.

There's a car ride back to the hotel where his hand rests over the inside of her thigh, his fingers spread wide on her skin, and she feels electric with it, with being close to him, with the anticipation of their hotel room and the bed waiting for them. The elevator is occupied by someone else too, a grey-face businessman wilting in his expensive suit, and she's alive with want, her eyes on Vision's profile, the shape of his nose and the line of his jaw and the mouth she wants to feel soft and full on hers again. It takes him several tries to swipe the keycard into their room, his hand trembling, and she reaches for his cheek, her fingers fitted to the hollow of his cheekbone. "It's okay," she says softly.

"I haven't...done this in a long time," he says, and she blinks at him, the lust heavy around them, making her head swim, making it hard to process anything. "Sex. With someone I actually _wanted_."

"We don't have to do anything you don't want," she says. "We can just...make out. And then order room service. And then go to sleep."

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at her, and she feels so exposed in the best way under his gaze. Their eye contact doesn't break when he slowly unknots his tie and slides the silk from beneath his collar, when he crosses the room to her and they're sharing breath as he removes his blazer from around her shoulders and folds it neatly, setting it aside. Then he reaches for the neatly knotted neck of her dress, his fingers on the back of her neck setting her alight, until the two halves of the neckline are in his hands and slowly being drawn away, leaving her naked from the waist up.

"I don't want to just make out," he whispers, and then kisses her. And she surrenders to him, his hands around her waist, pushing her skirt down and off her, her fingers tugging at the buttons of his shirt and running over his bare chest. The room spinning when he lifts her across the room and onto the bed, his lips on her neck, her leg curling up around him and the first meeting of their hips, the hitch in her breath when she feels him half-hard against her.

She giggles when he huffs breaking the kiss to reach down and tug off his socks, their hands colliding when they both reach for the buckle of his belt, and she grins up at him, dizzy with the joy of it all. "Do you have a condom?"

"In the pocket of my suitcase," he says, and then flushes. "I...you must know, I didn't intend for this to happen. It was just...a precaution."

"I'm glad you're so _cautious_ ," she teases, and wriggles out from beneath him to go to their bags, set side by side against the wall. They've already started packing to leave again, and she has to root through his clothes for the packet she wants, turning back to him spinning it between her fingers and giving him a smile full of promise. "Take the blankets and pillows off the bed and sit against the headboard, sweetheart."

They're completely skin to skin when she climbs back into his lap, their clothes scattered haphazardly across the room, and he _keens_ when she kisses him, his hand folded over the small of her back when he's rested his fingers all week, and it's all so much. Too much for her to bear for longer than a few more minutes of foreplay before she rips the packet open and rolls the condom onto him, kissing him again, a momentary reassurance for both of them. "Promise me you want this," she says, and it seems foolish to ask him when they're both naked, when they're so close, when he whispered her name like a prayer at her hand on him. "Promise me you're not just doing this over some misguided thought that you owe me."

" _Please_ , Wanda," he whispers, and that sends her head spinning, sends heat flooding through her. "I want you. _Please_."

She rasps out, " _Shit_ ," when she sinks onto him, and he kisses her frantically, all tongue and open mouths and gasps. When she starts to move, his nails bite into her skin, leaving crescent-shaped divots behind in her hips, and she can't help realising it's all going to be over far too fast. The tension has been building between them since she watched him bent over her car, in every tiny touch and gentle peck of their lips, and she can't stop touching him, her hands in his hair, tracing down his chest, tangling their fingers together.

He lifts her chin and kisses her, tilting their foreheads together, and she moans his name in a voice so desperate she barely recognises it. "You are so beautiful," he whispers, and his hand slides slowly down between them, his thumb finding her clit and gently circling, and she presses her face into his neck and shudders as he slowly, gently draws her to the edge and over, his name on her lips.

She kisses his neck as she comes down, her head whited out with bliss, and he groans her name when her lips find the hollow of his neck, his grip on her tightening. His hips bow into hers when he comes, choking out her name, and then she straightens up, sticky with sweat and helplessly smiling. "That was...something," she says, and he lets out a breath of a laugh, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to her palm. She brushes hair out of his eyes, cups his face between her hands, and softly says, "You're beautiful."

"So are you," he says, and then shifts her in his lap. "You should clean up. We can't stay like this forever."

"If it's always that good, I might want to," she says, and colour floods his face. "Don't move, okay? When I come back, we're cuddling."

"Good," he says, clearly something he didn't think before he said, and she kisses him one more time before untangling herself.

When she leaves the bathroom, he's waiting patiently, the bed made again, and he holds out his arms. She curls into him, her head on his chest, his fingers carding through her hair, and in the darkness she finally says, "Thank you. For everything. For this week."

"No, Wanda," he says softly. "Thank _you_."

And, long after she's sure he's asleep, she leans up to look at him. His soft face, his lips still swollen with kiss, and she drops a soft kiss on his forehead and nervously breathes, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

* * *

Vision sleeps much longer than her. When she exits the shower, he's still asleep, and she dresses herself in jeans and a striped jumper quietly, loathe to wake him. Damp hair slowly drying into waves over her shoulders, she heads down to the breakfast buffet with a spring in her step. The heels of her boots click on the marble floor of the lobby, and she lingers over the options, wondering what he'll like. The server smiles at her and offers her help carrying the tray to their room, and she shakes her head. She wants the quiet moment with Vision, the softness of early mornings, the discussion about last night. She wants to curl herself around him again, let him take her apart and put her back together, let him make her glow.

"Of all the breakfast buffets in all the world, she walks into mine," comes the voice behind her, and she turns to find Simon behind her, smiling that lazy smile that used to make her swoon. She's not so sure anymore. Now her heart sings for Vision's soft, sweet, shy smile.

"It's a hotel, hundreds of people come down here," she says, and finishes loading the tray with her coffee and Vision's tea and pancakes and strawberries.

"At least let me help you carry that up," he says, and she glares at him. "Don't ruin the nice gesture for your new boyfriend by dropping it everywhere, Wanda."

Maybe it's the way he says her name. Maybe it's the memories of three years that she can't erase. But she lets him take the tray and lets him follow her back to the room where she has something new and fragile waiting. Something she wants to try to make strong, and when she opens the door she can hear the shower running, and directs Simon to set the tray down on the vanity. "Thank you," she says stiffly, and Simon smiles, deepening his dimple.

"I'm glad I caught you alone," he says, and she folds her arms over her chest, raising her chin defiantly. She doesn't need to listen to Simon. He has Anna, and she has Vision to figure out. "I've been wanting to talk to you all week."

"So why haven't you?" she asks, and he chuckles.

"It's not a conversation we can have in front of my fiancée or your boyfriend," he says, and he moves closer, his cologne misting into her space. "I made a mistake, Wanda. I should never have left you."

"Simon, not now-"

"Now is the only time I _can_ ," he says, and he reaches for her hand, twining their fingers together. "I'm sorry. We were getting so serious, so set in stone, and I...freaked out. I ran away. I took the coward's way out, and I shouldn't have done it. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

" _We_ were too serious?" she asks. "You're engaged to Anna now!"

"She reminded me of you," he says, all softness and charm that's supposed to melt her. "I've been chasing you all along, Wanda. You're the one."

It's all things she would've loved to hear a month ago. A week ago, even. Before Vision came into her life and kissed her so reverently and she saw what she could have. "You broke it off," she says sharply. "I haven't forgotten. I'm not the girl you fell in love with, that's what you said. How can I trust that you won't run off and find someone else again?"

"I'll wear thicker socks," he says, smiling like this is all a game, a joke. "No more cold feet. I had to...take this time. To be sure about you."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have asked someone else to marry you in that time," she says thinly. "I don't need this, Simon. I...I have Vision now."

"The new boyfriend was a stroke of genius," he says, and she bristles. "Point taken. Seeing you with him...God, I saw red. I'm jealous that anyone else gets to see you, touch you...kiss you." He's so close, in her space, making the world narrow to just them. "I love you, Wanda. All you have to do is say you love me too, and we can forget about this blip."

"You have Anna to think about," she says. "And I don't...I want to see where things with Vision go. I like him."

"That's not love," he says, and leans down so his breath warms her face. "You still love me. I see it in your eyes. Just say it, and we can be together again."

His mouth covers hers as the bathroom door opens. And she flies away instantly, but it's too late, Vision has already seen them, and his face is crumpling. Simon is smirking, and Vision is shoving past her out into the corridor, and she's snapping, "Get out of my room, Si," and running after him. His shoulders in his blue jumper descending the stairs, and she almost stumbles in her heels following him, shouting, "Vision! I can explain!"

He turns around to face her, and there are tears in his eyes even when his face twists into anger. "Congratulations," he snaps, and her heart _breaks_. "You got exactly what you wanted. You made him jealous enough with the fake whore boyfriend to dump the fiancée and take you back."

"That's not what I _wanted_!" she insists, and he won't even look at her, her throat constricting and her face getting hot with unshed tears. "Vision, _please_...what about last night?"

"What about it?" he asks, his voice hollow. "I'm a prostitute and you're making an ex jealous. That's all it was, right?"

"Of course _not_ ," she says, and moves closer. But he pushes her hand away when she reaches for him, and a sob escapes her lips. "Vision, I want _you_. I want to see where this goes. _Please_ , last night was everything and that...that with Simon meant _nothing_ , he cornered me!"

"He was in your room," he says. "How did he get in if you didn't want him there?"

"He just helped me carry our breakfast from the buffet, I was just trying to get back to you, I-"

"At least you can say this was ten thousand dollars well spent," Vision says. "Don't worry. I'll fork out myself to move my flight up a day. Enjoy your last special night in Paris."

"Vizh!"

The doors of the hotel crash shut behind him, and she folds over into a sobbing mess on the staircase.

* * *

"I can keep waiting with you if you want," Natasha says, her hand wrapped around the handle of her suitcase. The airport is bustling with life, the air much warmer than it was in Paris, and Wanda stares at the baggage claim carriage rotating, her chest hollow.

"No, go," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm just gonna get a cab home and order takeout."

"Good," Natasha says. "Reward yourself. You did well." And she squeezes Wanda's shoulder, a tiny reassuring touch that makes her want to cry. "And try calling him again. One fight doesn't mean he won't pick up."

She continues staring at the baggage claim as her manager leaves her there alone, biting her lip and digging her nails into her palms to stop the tears falling. Vision has ignored all of her calls, all of her texts, all of her desperate attempts to get in contact. She stares at the transaction in her bank history of the ten thousand directly to him and cries. She skipped the last party of Paris Fashion Week and sat in her hotel room alone, where she'd been wrapped around him a day ago and he'd called her beautiful, and sobbed and sobbed.

"Wanda!" She turns at the cry of her name, and finds Anna running towards her, her suitcase zigzagging haphazardly over the floor. She's awfully bright-eyed for having just gotten off a plane, her smile fading away when she sees Wanda's devastated face. "Are you alright? Have you been crying?"

"I'm fine," she says, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the tear she has to scrub away. "I just...had a fight with Vision. He flew home early."

"Oh _no_ ," Anna says, and she's so genuine that Wanda feels bad for the years of animosity between them. It was never her fault that she came from old money and had everything Wanda fought for handed to her on a silver platter, never her fault that she was the princess to Wanda's Cinderella. "You didn't break up, did you? I wanted Simon and I to have dinner with the two of you, I thought we could be friends! He seemed so good for you, you really seemed happy! What happened?"

"Maybe...we could go for lunch now?" she suggests, and Anna visibly brightens. "Just the two of us? Where's Simon?"

"Oh, he flew to New York instead for some meeting," she says airily, waving her engagement ring around. "Lunch sounds great. I know this lovely little vegan place, as long as you're not opposed to avocado. It's the main ingredient in most of their lunches."

When they sit down, Wanda fidgets with her toast, shredding the crust away from the bread, until she finally says, "I'm sorry for how I've been to you over the years," she says, and Anna looks startled. "I guess I was...jealous. Everything always seemed so easy for you. You were the golden girl. And I...I was so afraid of losing everything in a second that when...when Simon left me and then took up with you, I took it out on you."

"I always admired you so much," Anna says, and Wanda kicks herself for letting rivalry paint her perception of this woman. "You came from nothing and got everything. I always knew things were easy for me, that I could get what I wanted by throwing my family name around. And...I always did like Simon. Like every other cliché girl." She chews thoughtfully for a moment and says, "I was so grateful when he started flirting with me last year. And he told me things were falling apart between you and he didn't think you wanted to marry him. He said he'd bought you a ring but you never seemed excited about the future. Of course I...I jumped at the chance." She chews at her lip and says, "I should've talked to you about it. Especially when...when things started happening between us before he really left you."

Rage colours Wanda's world red for a moment, and her voice is dangerously slow and thin when she asks, "Things happened between you before we broke up?"

"Only kisses," Anna says, and her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. "A few private dates. I...I said you were my friend and I didn't want him to cheat on you, but he said you were together in name only anyway. And when he proposed, I said it could hurt you. I said it was too soon. But he said you'd never expressed any interest in marriage anyway, of course you wouldn't mind-"

"You should leave him," Wanda blurts out, and Anna's eyes go wide. "He's a shit. I spent three years telling him I wanted to marry him, and he was the one who dragged his heels. I thought everything about us was rock-solid until the day he broke up with me. I had no idea he was seeing you before we split up until right now." She gives her fellow model a concerned look and says, "It's a pattern. He did it to me, and he's doing it to you."

"He's cheating on me?" Anna asks, those big blue eyes that remind her of Vision filling with tears. "With who?"

"Vision left Paris early because he walked in on Simon kissing me," she says, and Anna's hand flies to her mouth to cover a sob. "He insisted he'd made a mistake, that I was the one, that he would marry me and you were a blip. Anna, _leave him_." Like a soldier on a mission, she stands up, grabbing her scarf from the back of her chair.

"Where are you going?" Anna asks, clearly devastated.

"I'm going to find my boyfriend and tell him I love him and my shithead ex shouldn't come between us," she says, fired up now. "And seriously. Leave Simon. Read him the riot act before you do it. All me, and I'll help you. We can be united in surviving the wiles of Simon Williams."

She catches a cab home to dump her suitcase and get her own car. It's getting late, slipping from evening into night, and she prays to every deity that might be watching over her as she steers her car down Sunset Boulevard.

And he's there. On that same side street, and she can't believe it's only been twelve days since she last saw him. He's back in that leather jacket, a thin T-shirt, leaning over someone's car with a seductive smile she sees right through. And she climbs out of her car, slamming the door, and calls, "Vision!"

He looks up and sees her, and the emotions that flash across his face in the moment their eyes lock move through anger to misery to something she's desperate to see as hope. His voice is thin when he finally says her name, and it sings through her. "Wanda. Car trouble again?"

"Yes," she gasps. "You're not in it."

"I'm working," he says, and turns back to the woman in her car, and Wanda grabs his hand to pull him towards her. "What do you _want_ , Wanda? Haven't you done enough?"

"Please, Vision, hear me out," she says. "Simon kissed me out of nowhere. He was begging me to get back together, telling me he'd leave Anna. And I don't want him. I want _you_."

"I'm a terrible prospect, Wanda," he says, and her heart breaks at the look on his face. The resignation. "A college dropout who ended up a prostitute. You should marry the millionaire soccer player. You deserve the best."

"Simon is the worst, actually," she says. "He cheated on me with Anna. He cheated on Anna with me. And hopefully she's leaving him and splashing it all over the gossip pages to wreck his name." She takes a breath, hardly able to keep standing, and says, "You're the best for me, Vizh. I want you. I don't care what anyone says. I want to be yours."

"You couldn't be with me. Not with my life like this-"

"I _told_ you, I'll help you change it," she says. "I can pay for college-"

"I don't want your money-"

"You can pay me back, every cent, when you get on your feet," she says. " _Please_. I...I'm falling in love with you, Vision. I'm not trying to rescue you, I'm sure you'll be fine without me. I'm...I'm asking you to choose me. I'm asking you to find out what we could be."

He stares at her for a long moment, the echo of her words dying away between them. Then he looks at her car and says, "I do see the problem here."

"You do?" she asks, blinking in confusion at him. And then he smiles, the dawn after the worst darkness, and opens the door, taking her hand to pull her into the backseat on top of him.

In the moment right before he kisses her, before he realises their reunion, he tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles into her eyes. "By the way," he breathes, "I'm falling in love with you too."

And she smiles against his lips, heedless of any chance of headlines about a model being caught having sex in the back of her car just off Hollywood Boulevard.

Those headlines do exist the next day, but they're far overshadowed by Annalise Clarke-Alderidge leaving Simon Williams in a flurry of infidelity accusations. And Wanda smiles into her boyfriend's shoulder as she likes Anna's Instagram post and sends her a congratulatory message.

"Want me to make breakfast?" Vision asks into the pillows, and she turns to smile at him, naked in her bed and gilded in the morning light. "Pancakes are my speciality."

"I'll help," she says, and reaches up to run her thumb over his lips, hardly daring to believe she's allowed to kiss those lips whenever she wants. "And maybe later we can look at college applications for you?"

"If you're sure," he says, doubt invading his softness.

"I've never been as sure as anything as I am of you," she promises, and leans in to kiss him.


End file.
